The Ungrateful One

Sophie, we’re starving! Get up already! her husband’s irritated voice echoed in her ear.

Her head throbbed, her throat burned, and her nose was blocked. She tried to sit up, but her limbs felt like lead. No wonder she’d fallen ill.

All week, the weather had been unseasonably warm, but yesterday, as evening fell, sleet had poured down. Spring in England Taxis had been impossible to findunsurprising in such weatherso shed taken the bus home from work. Shed waited half an hour, only to squeeze into a packed double-decker. Then a long walk from the stop.

Shed asked her husband, James, to pick her up on his way.

Soph, me and Tommy stopped by Mums. Well be late, hed said.

As usual.

By the time she got home, she was soaked and shivering.

Now it was 8 a.m. on a Saturday.

Jamie, could you fetch the thermometer, please? she croaked.

What? Youre ill? James sounded shocked. What about breakfast?

Could you manage on your own? she asked weakly.

On our own? He scoffed. What about Tommy?

Hes ten! And youre a grown man. Fry some eggs? Let him help. I taught him how.

You taught him to cook? James gaped.

Yes. Whats the issue? Hes glued to his phone all day. Wont lift a finger.

Youre really sick, arent you? Hes a lad! Men dont cookthats womens work! His face reddened. Fine. Well stay at Mums if you cant be bothered. Back tomorrow.

And with that, the two of them packed up and left.

Sophie dragged herself up, found the thermometer, and put the kettle on, her thoughts swirling.

*When had it happened? When had her husband stopped being capable of even basic care? When had she become the sole caretaker?*

The thermometer beeped39.2°C.

She swallowed painkillers and crawled back to bed.

Her phone rang laterher mum, Margaret.

Sophie, why didnt you answer? I always hear from you in the mornings!

Just a bit poorly, Mum. Took medicine and went back to sleep.

A *bit*? Wheres Jamie? At his mums again?

Went with Tommy. Didnt want to catch it.

And you believe that? More like didnt want to lift a finger!

Mum, please

Dont *Mum* me! I didnt raise you to be a servant. Did you take your temperature?

Yes. High this morning. A bit better now, but no energy.

Stay put. Your dads coming to fetch you. No one should be alone when theyre ill.

Sophie weakly packed a bag and waited.

Blimey! Her dad clutched his chest when he saw her.

Dad! Whats wrong?

Thought Id seen a ghost! Youre pale as milk.

Very funny.

Come on. Hold onto mewouldnt want the wind to carry you off. He helped her into the car. Youre skin and bones. Your mums rightlooks like youve been worked to the bone.

She didnt argue. She was too tired.

Her parents home was warm, welcoming, and full of love. By evening, she felt better.

She called James to say she wasnt home.

What do you want me to do? Cant bring you medicinehad a pint with Dad. Its Saturday! Footballs on. Oh, Mum wants a word.

His mother, Patricia, took the phone.

Sophie! Youre a wife! You cant just fall apart and leave your men hungry! Whats a man need? A full belly, a warm house, and no nagging! But you? *Illness*take a pill and sleep it off!

Sophies mum snatched the phone.

Pat, is your son helpless? Ill? Or just too *precious* to lift a finger?

Dont be daft! Men are men. Patricia faltered. James, whats going on?

Oh, just nursing our girl back to health. Since her *husband* cant be botheredtoo busy drinking!

They left to give her *peace*! Spoiled bratmedicine, coddling! Healthy girl, just lazy. Abandoned her family! But *Ill* take care of my boys!

Margaret hung up, seething.

Love, is this really what you want? Youre young! This is too much.

Then James texted:

*”Soph, send money? Spent my pay on Tommy. Had to cover his clubs and clothes!”*

*”While I paid all the bills and groceries?”* she fired back.

*”Your flat, your problem. Hurry upIm at Tesco!”*

*”No money. Spent it on medicine.”*

*”Seriously? Your illness is costing us! Ask your parents.”*

*”Ask yours.”*

*”Shell ask where my wages went!”*

*”So will I.”*

*”Im a man! I dont answer to youor her! Send it now!”*

*”No.”*

The texts poured in*selfish, ungrateful, terrible wife, worse mother*. She silenced her phone.

Sunday morning, James called.

Sophie, were staying at Mums. She *cares*unlike you. She warned me not to marry you. “*Who knows what kind of mother shell be?*” Shouldve listened. Youre useless.

Well? Her dad watched her.

Divorce. Im done.

Good. He left, returning hours later with new keys.

Changed your locks. Packed their things. Sent them to Pats. Youll stay here awhile.

Her mum hummed happily in the kitchen. Theyd waited for this.

The divorce was swiftno shared children, no joint assets. James had taken Tommy a year into their marriage to avoid child support. His ex-wife hadnt cared.

Hed forgotten to ask Sophie. Forgotten the flat was *hers*. Forgotten Tommy made her life hell. Forgotten *her*.

But the court remembered.

Now James and Tommy lived with Patricia, who scolded their spending and made them scrub dishes. Three men under one roof wasnt easy.

And Sophie?

She bought a carno more sick days from rain.

At 27, after a hard lesson, what else was there to do?

Love herself. And never settle for less.